


Two

by cecilantro



Series: 100 Days Of Ficlets [36]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 02:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14202792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: “So,” Molly’s drawl isn’t a shock, he knows what’s coming, “You haven’t eaten. Is that a choice, or…?”“No, no, I just… forget, when I am otherwise mentally preoccupied, that my body requires sustenance.”“For a man that rememberseverything, seems unlikely you’d forget to eat.”





	Two

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by Two by Sleeping At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ST4Jq80MWFw)
> 
>  
> 
> its like 1.5k words of conversation tbh. running low on the ideas front

Caleb knows he’s shaking when he knocks on the door to Mollymauk’s room, all he wants is just, one bag of tea that has lavender in, he’s had so much trouble sleeping and he knows the scent helps him.   
Fjord is so mad at him that he’s kicked Molly out to get his own room for the night, pitching a vendetta against him for chirping up in Caleb’s defence, the wizard stands by his own decisions. He wishes he’d taken the scroll, knows he could have laid Fjord flat if he so chose, but he counts the man as a friend, didn’t want to hurt him,  _ never _ wants to hurt him, and he certainly never wants to see the amber of his eyes in such a flaring, cold tempered rage ever again. His mind draws up painful comparisons between Fjord’s expression with the falchion to his throat, and the soft warmth of telling Caleb he wants to earn his trust.   
Caleb isn’t the biggest fan of how much that hurts, he didn’t want to get so invested so early in.   
Molly has called for him to come in, but Caleb has fallen back into the hurricane of his own thoughts so far that he doesn’t hear, he stares at the oak wood door, sees Fjord instead.   
He doesn’t hear the huff that Molly gives from inside, doesn’t even register when the door opens and Molly, half-dressed, demands,   
“What?”   
He stares straight through him.   
“Caleb?” Molly’s mostly fake annoyance disappears, evaporates like rainfall from the paving stones on a hot summer’s day. Caleb blinks away tears as they spring,   
“Hm? Oh, I’m sorry, I got distracted, I, I, I came to ask if you have any, lavender?”   
Molly looks him up and down, one hand curled against his lips as he studies, then Caleb finds the hand on his lapel and pulling him in, dragging him to Molly’s bed and pushing him down.   
“Caleb, dear, you’re shaking like a wet dog in winter. When did you last eat?”   
Caleb thinks about it for a moment,   
“Oh, not too long ago. I think, perhaps, yesterday?” A frown, “No, the day before, with Jester and Beau.”   
Molly turns and walks out of the room, Caleb stares open-mouthed after his trailing coat tails as they whip out of the door. He’s not sure, really, what to do, so he stays put and hopes that Molly returns quickly, checks the room to categorically document everything, but it seems much the same as Caleb’s own, albeit smaller, with only a single bed. A one-person room, evidently, then, there’s a window that faces the main street. Caleb is peering out of it when the door opens again, and then closes, and Molly waves a cob loaf at him.   
“‘S mighty fuckin’ hard to get  _ anything _ at this hour, but I tried. And this is better than nothing, sit yourself down, Caleb, and don’t argue.”   
So Caleb does, somewhat dubiously, he watches Molly wander around and collect things.   
“You have a dagger?”   
“I- I do, yes-”   
“If I use it to cut the bread, will we die?”   
“I have never, personally, stabbed anyone with it.” Caleb withdraws it from the sheath belt and hands it to Molly, handle first, the feeling of the blade pressing against skin is somewhat comforting. Molly takes it and eyes it a little, takes a moment to run a little water over it, just as a precaution, and cuts two haphazard chunks from the bread loaf.   
“Honey or no honey?” he asks Caleb, shrugging as he speaks, “I’m a little low on the way of bread toppings, unfortunately.”   
“I don’t need-”   
“Honey it is!” Molly interrupts his protest, flicks the dagger down the windowsill toward him before taking his tea spoon to the little jar of honey and dolloping a decent amount onto each slice. He hands Caleb one, and the wizard sighs, stands from the bed and moves to the opposing wall to begin eating. Crumbs in the bed are, after all, Caleb’s personal idea of hell.    
Perhaps not that far, he lives his own hell at night after all, but it comes pretty close.   
“So,” Molly’s drawl isn’t a shock, he knows what’s coming, “You haven’t eaten. Is that a choice, or…?”   
“No, no, I just… forget, when I am otherwise mentally preoccupied, that my body requires sustenance.”   
“For a man that remembers  _ everything _ , seems unlikely you’d forget to eat.” Molly raises his eyebrows, there’s the crackle of bread crust as he takes a new bite, Caleb’s expression borders stormy,   
“That is not how my memory works.” He tells Molly, walking the knife-edge line between snappy and protesting, “That is not how  _ I _ work, either. I remember  _ information _ , vital things, facts, about things that interest me. I specialise in memorising about things that I like.”   
Things like Mollymauk, then, the flamboyant bounce to his step when he’s happy, the way that he fiddles and cracks his knuckles when nervous, his affection for touching his own face. The last one, in particular, was hard to truly pick up on, it could be a habit, but Caleb would speculate it borders more on the grounding aspect of physical sensation.   
Molly tilts his head, curious,   
“But you don’t remember to eat.”   
“Yes, because that is about  _ me _ !” Caleb’s free hand waves wide, “I do not like myself, Mollymauk, so I do not document information about myself, where- where I can avoid it.” he catches himself toward the end, catches the way Molly’s eyes widen in shock, he drops his gaze and crams the last bit of bread into his mouth to stop himself talking again.   
Molly crosses to him and bundles him into a sudden, tight hug, and his tail taps Caleb’s chin back up to meet his eyes, when he pulls away. His hands settle on Caleb’s shoulders.   
“You’re staying with me tonight.” Molly tells Caleb, firm, and the wizard sighs,   
“I, I cannot just  _ leave _ Nott-”   
“She’ll be fine for tonight, I’ll go and tell her myself, she won’t have reason to panic. Do you have anything you need from your room?”   
“No, my books are…” he pats the holster around his waist, and Molly nods, leans in quickly to kiss Caleb’s cheek,   
“Help yourself to more bread and honey, I’ll see to Nott.” There’s a smile, so gentle and warm that Caleb feels a little of his tension seep away. He lets out a breath, surprises himself with how shaky and vulnerable he sounds,   
“Okay. Thank you, Mollymauk.”   
“It’s Molly to my friends, dear.” Molly pats his face and drags the tips of his fingers along the line of Caleb’s jaw as he draws away and leaves, once again, to see Nott.

 

Caleb is perched on the windowsill with another slice of bread when he returns, staring out of the window. His books, dagger sheath, and coat are all piled neatly next to his boots in the corner, he doesn’t flinch when Molly enters, just gives a soft hum.   
Molly hums back and sits on his bed to change out of his clothes, generally, he’d sleep only in his underclothes, but he does own a spare shirt in case of times such as this. He pulls it on, an ill-fitting red mess that was likely intended to have short sleeves, they reach instead to his elbow and are far too wide. Good job he enjoys the show of skin, he supposes.   
Caleb is lit by moonlight and the gentlest of orange glows from the street lamps, a combination of purple-white from the top, firelight from the bottom, it emphasises the deep shadows around his eyes. He looks, as always, so tired. From exhaustion, from life, from the nightmares that Molly knows plague him in the night, it’s the downside to sleeping in separate rooms, that Molly can no longer fall asleep across Caleb’s chest like a cat would, a physical barrier between Caleb and his history.   
“Why did you come here tonight?” Molly realises he hasn’t asked, and Caleb looks over, shocked as though he had forgotten Molly was there.   
“Oh, I, I, I hoped that you would have a tea or an oil scented with lavender, it helps me to sleep, and I haven’t been doing so well on that front lately.”   
Molly laughs, softly, and wanders over. Caleb stands to meet him, confused, is a little shocked when Molly pulls him into a hug, far warmer and looser than the previous one. One that Caleb can relax into, against Molly’s comforting warmth, he pulls in a deep breath and is shocked at the scent of lavender.   
“Oh.”   
“I follow the theme.” he feels Molly smile against his neck, “Rinse my hair with lavender oil. Works out well for you and I, hm?”   
“ _ Ja _ , I, I would certainly say so.” Caleb feels Molly squeeze briefly before pulling away again, he runs his hands down Caleb’s arms, takes the wizard’s wrists and stares, down, at them until Caleb slips and laces his fingers between Molly’s.   
“Ah, good, I was beginning to think that I had misread the situation.” Molly’s eyes find their way back to Caleb’s face, a little flushed, and Caleb rolls his eyes and chuckles at him.   
“As was I. Perhaps we should sleep, before we have the chance to, to, misinterpret any further.”   
And he lets go of Molly’s hands to push, gently, at Molly’s shoulders, until he turns and lets Caleb past, onto the bed. Molly waits, a minute, for Caleb to settle in, then joins him.   
Caleb watches his eyes close.   
“Oh, no goodnight kiss?” he teases, is rewarder with the flickering of Molly’s eyes opening again, he leans over and presses a soft, chaste kiss to Caleb’s lips.   
They cuddle closer, Caleb settles himself against Molly’s collarbone and lets himself slip away.


End file.
